Devil's 8
by TashimiaAuthor
Summary: Dean and Sam needs a break from the Whole hunting thing, so they stop by a small town for rest. This is the story of how Dean met a witch at the bar, and the three days they spend together. But then Again, can you have anything but an explosive relationship when a witch and a withchunter get together, hunting and being hunted by a death-eater? Rated M for adult nightly activities.
1. Chapter 1

**_1._**

They had been hunting for months without a real break, Sam was exhausted and even Dean felt tired of it and wanted to do something different. Sure, they had killed a bunch of monsters, including vampires, werewolves and a couple of exotic African monsters that turned into ten feet tall killers with knives for hands. Knives for freaking hands! Well, Sam had a new scar to show of to the girls.

So after they had checked into the motel and gotten their stuff into the rooms, they left for each their thing. As always, Dean made sure that Sam had a gun on him, a precaution because of all the times stuff happened when they were separated.

Sam went to the local library, as always when they were in a new town without a job, to read up on their surroundings and make sure that they were relatively safe or that there was a hunt to be found. This time though, he was mostly going to find some books worth reading. He had even checked that it was open until late before choosing this town.

Dean on the other hand, was on the prowl for a bar. Sam had already been warned that he might not come back tonight. He wanted to drink himself headless. It was a long time since he had drunk himself unconscious and he missed it. Also, he missed getting with a girl, and he felt he needed both tonight.

Mostly he had luck with girls, but others plain out detested him for his cocky attitude and arrogance. Still, that was also what the girls he got had been attracted to, his charm, they had called it. What they did not know, and never would, was that he below it all was every bit as sensitive as Sam, every bit as easily hurt, only so much more rash-headed and quick tempered. And maybe all the more in need of care and of someone to hold him tight. Not that he would ever admit any of it.

So he stepped into the first bar he came by, a great big neon-sign, dirty and probably partly broken as it flashed the large words; Devil's 8, spreading the red colour of the light on the surroundings. Otherwise the town was dark.

As he stepped in, he quickly realised that there was no pretty girls there. Hell, most of the people were old bearded men, sitting in groups around the tables or alone at the bar. There were a few girls, of course, with an overly large amount of make-up and short shorts and mini T-shirts that barely covered the breasts and let the stomachs completely bare. But none of them were impressively sexy nor good looking. Not that he cared, he just cared not to be alone in his bed tonight.

Still he sighed, as he made his way to the bar, deciding to drink, then get a girl, then pass out with her by his side. The other option would have been to get a girl, have a great talk or something along those lines, then get drunk together and pass out beside her.

As he got to the bar he just ordered a full bottle of their cheapest whiskey, not caring for the taste. No need wasting good drinking and money just to get drunk. He considered refusing the glass that the bartender sat for him to drink from beside the full bottle, but then he sighed again. No need to drink like a maniac, even if that was how he felt.

The first glass went down easy, and so did the second, third and soon he was pouring himself number four. But just as he put down the bottle to empty the glass, the petite hand of a woman laid itself on top of the glass, stopping him. Confused and annoyed he lifted his eyes, expecting one of those girls he had seen on the way in. Instead he saw something completely different.

"I think you might have had enough, for someone drinking alone." She suggested, her deep brown eyes locked in his, a bit of curly hair falling past one eye. Removing her hand, she used it to push the hair behind her ear. "Not that it's any of my business, though." She continued, her accent every bit as British as they come.

"You're right." He said. "It is not your business, unless you care to get a drink with me." He gave her the crooked smile he always gave girls, the smile that always worked. And sure enough, she sat down beside him, giving him a small smile, but also a bit of a frown.

"As long as that isn't what you're going to make me drink." She said, nodding at the bottle.

"All right." He answered, nodding at the barkeep, who came with a clean glass for the woman and, at Dean's suggestion, a better bottle of whiskey. The woman still did not seem all that pleased about his choice, but then she seemed to shrug it off.

"Might as well try it." She said, giving him a beautiful smile as the bartender poured for her, almost as if she included him in the things worth trying. She took a sip, trying, then she took a bigger draw and sat it down, putting her hand out.

"I'm called Hermione." She said, still smiling.

"Dean." He answered, taking her hand and giving it a light shake, looking over her. Her hair, collected in a ponytail, was brown and curly, matching her chocolate eyes. She wore a leather jacket, a darker brown than her hair, and a light T-shirt and long blue jeans. Somehow, she matched him.

"So, Hermione, what are a girl like you, doing in here?" He said, waving his hand a little to include the room. "Not to use a bad pick up line, it's just you don't exactly match the others." A pointed look at the girls with the bare legs and heavy make-up. Hermione did not have a lot of make-up on, not any he could see, anyway.

She looked at the girls, wrinkling her nose a little, -was she a prude?- before she looked at him again, a little secretive smile on her face. "I'm travelling." She said. "Though some might call it searching."

He leaned closer, he could smell her through the haze of the whiskey and the cheap smell of liqueur. A crispy sort of scent, like cinnamon and old paper. "If you don't mind me asking,-" his voice was low now, close to her ear. - "searching for what?" He was interested, in the way she had said it, but also because of his line of work. He wondered if he should use Christ's name, just to check if she was a demon, but decided not to. If she was anything but a demon, the situation would just turn weird. Well, it would if she was a demon too, but...

She leaned closer to him too, her lips almost at his ears, hesitating somehow, like she was not used to this sort of flirting.

"A wizard." She whispered, deciding to tell the truth. For she was in town, searching for a wizard, or more correctly, searching for a death eater who had turned tails and run after the great war.

Dean stiffened and pulled back a little. Was this part of the flirting too? Would she claim, in a second, that he might be a wizard who would turn her world upside down tonight? Or did she mean an actually wizard, witch, or sorcerer or whatever?

"Oh." He said, leaning in again, deciding to go with it. "And who might this wizard be?" He asked, letting his lips trail down her neck. This time it was her who stiffened and pulled back, her eyes confused and suddenly distanced from him.

"No one." She said, then frowned. "No one I actually know, but he's a criminal." She stood up, giving him a polite smile, that did not properly hide her sudden worry. What had she been thinking, telling all this to a muggle? What would the consequences be? Trouble was, she had not been thinking. She had looked into his incredible sad, green eyes, as he drunk and wished to stop him from doing so alone and then she had stopped thinking, had been drawn in.

Maybe she was a prude after all, Dean thought as she stood, or maybe she really had something to do with the supernatural, just as his every instinct was telling him that she had. He stood too.

"Wait." He said. "Maybe I can help?" He pulled out his fake FBI sign. "I have connections."

She sat back down, still looking worried. "You're FBI?" She asked, not sure if she believed him. Well, in fact that tattered and worn sign did not look real, but this was not her country. It was the states.

"Sure." He said, not helping his creditability as he sat back down. "As real as they come." He continued, putting away his sign before she could get a closer look. "Now tell me, this 'Wizard' of yours, how is he a criminal?"

She shrugged, looking kinda uncertain about it all. "He killed some people." She said. "Though... I should probably tell you that it can't be proved."

This surprised him. Yep, his instincts definitely screamed supernatural. "How so?" He asked, frowning, leaning in again.

Hermione looked at him, wondering how much she should tell him. He seemed to believe her amazingly easy... Was he a nut-job? Or just playing along to get with her? Not that she would mind that last bit too much, as she still remembered the thrill of his lips against her neck. She had just never gotten with a guy like that before, in fact she had only gotten with one guy and she had known Ron since they were eleven. Of course they had drifted apart, after the first excitement of being together had faded.

"They would not seem to have died violently. Their hearts would just seem to have stopped, out of nowhere and completely naturally. Except no illnesses, no prior heart problems, no drugs in their systems and absolutely no reason for them to have suddenly died." She told him, deciding that even if he went and had a revelation, it would not matter. She was good at memory spells, a bitter thought, leaving her feeling angry at herself.

Dean surprised her, however.

"Sure sounds like magic." He said. "Though I wouldn't be able to guess what kind." He drank directly from his bottle, lost in thoughts, before grimacing, looking at the bottle and putting it down like he was suddenly disgusted by what he had been drinking. The sad look had disappeared from his eyes now. She smiled.

"Yeah." She said, her voice drifting off as she looked at his lips and eyes.

He looked at her, sensing the change of her thoughts and mood. A smile, an arrogant one, confident, crooked, sexy. And her smile seemed to match his.

"Dean." She whispered.

"Yeah?" He asked.

"Let's not talk about that any longer." She said, leaning in and kissing him.

A shiver ran over his skin, as he moved his hand to her hair, twisting his fingers in it and kissed her back. Nipping at her lower lip and relishing in the feeling of her biting his lip in revenge, her hands at his neck.

Maybe she was a demon. He did not care.


	2. Chapter 2

_**2.**_

Her hands moved from his neck and slid down his chest, finding it firm and hard with muscles, ore well shaped than Ron's had been, thicker and more muscular than Harry's, but thinner than Krum's. Three guys, that was all she had to compare the feeling of it with, and only one of them had she slept with. All he had to do was be better than Ron and that would be enough...

But his kiss. His kiss was amazing, taunting, biting, dirty and sexy. His very being seemed like sex as his hand slid down her back, the other one still burried in her hair, holding her close to him, leaving her no chance of escape. Not that she wanted to, actually. She felt rather good about being where she was.

Too quickly, in her opinion, he drew back, his eyes searching hers as they both stared at each other breathlessly and close together.

"Outside." He said, and she got up instantly together with him, kissing him again as he led her outside and around the corner of the bar, pushing her roughly against the wall. Shortly, she wondered if it had been a good idea to follow a stranger like this, but then she pushed it from her mind. It was like punching Malfoy, bad, fun, dangerous and exhilarating. With Ron it had just been... nice. Sure, there had been a spark at the beginning, but then after a couple of months, it quickly died.

If Ron had been a spark, Dean was a forest-fire.

He grabbed her at the top of the thighs, pulling her up and putting her against the wall, his knee between her legs, holding her up together with his left hand. The right one was caressing her neck, on the opposite side of where he was kissing and biting her. Moaning she dug her nails into his back, raising one leg to press it against his side, not using it to stand anyway as it was.

He trailed his tongue from the neck down to her shoulder, where he lightly bit her just before the edge of her t-shirt, his hand moving down, stroking her arm and going up under the cloth covering her body. A shiver ran though her, as she moaned again, kissing his neck.

His large, warm hand rested on her stomach for a moment, enjoying the contrast between the soft and rough skin, before moving further up and cupping her breast. Only for a second, before it went stroking her back, then returning again as he kissed her and the lips again, his pants becoming unbearably tight.

Hermione, feeling uncommonly bold and risky, a new Hermione compared to her earlier life, reached down and stroked his pants, feeling up the sizeable bump. A growl, almost sounding angry, came from his throat as he took a tighter hold on her, pressing his body against hers.

Falling asleep, drunk, unconscious beside a woman, this woman, did not matter any more. He wanted to take her, right then, right there, against the wall for all to hear and by passers to see. She moaned at the feeling of his body against hers and of the impressive tent he had raised because of her.

His hand went up under her shirt, pulling up its fabric and caressing her skin, her soft, warm skin, almost burning against his palms and in deep contrast to the cold night air around them. She followed his lead, letting her hands slip under his shirt, exploring his abs and moving to grab a firm hold of his belt.

But he did something with his mouth, her ear and her neck, so she could not help but moan and only keep a tight hold of the belt, as a mad person trying to keep hold on sanity. She almost felt dizzy with desire, forcing her to release her hold on the leather belt and fight with buckle to open it, as he pressed his knee higher, almost lifting her off the ground, his hands fondling, ravaging her body.

Just as she got the belt open, and was about to release the wand in his pants, everything changed.

He was torn away from her as they both was pushed from the wall in an explosion of force, slamming them against the hard asphalt and leaving them stunned for a moment, the sound making it ring in Hermiones ears. Through the haze of excitement and arousal, she understood the danger and got to her feet. Dean, however, was faster, already looking for the source and finding nothing. Not even the tiniest glimpse of a shadow.

"What the hell?!" Dean said, turning quickly to see everything around them, but seeing nothing but the normal night-view from the alley they were standing in.

Hermione pulled down in her shirt, making it cover her stomach again, looking around like him, but understanding much more. An explosion-curse. She could not figure out which one, but she knew what it was, and she had a pretty good idea that her prey was not content about her search. Maybe even trying to reverse the roles of hunter and prey.

Dean grabbed her shoulder, forcing her to look him in the eyes. "Are you all right?" He asked, confused by how used he seemed to situations like this, she nodded, only for him to grab her hand instead and pull her along down the road towards the parking lot.

"Good." He said, while walking. "We're getting out of here, 'cause people are going to have heard that."

She nodded again, remembered that he couldn't see it as he was pulling her along behind him and made an agreeing noise. Her words seemed to have left her behind, voiceless. Who the hell was this nut-job, that so easily made her a crazed person too? Merlin's beard! Back at Hogwarts she would have never allowed someone to pull her behind a dirty bar-building to make out and almost do it in the semi-open. Hell, she had barely let Ron kiss her in public and had felt horribly embarrassed whenever his family happened to see them. This was not like Hermione at all. Yet, she remembered thinking something different. Thinking of a new Hermione, a new her, able to do stuff that the old her never had. Able to live, outside of books, and not having to cry dreadfully alone in a bathroom as when she were smaller.

He pushed her into a slim, black car, past the driver's wheel and over to the other side since that was faster than walking around it, and sat in beside her, keys already in his hand and turning on the motor.

"Were-?" She didn't even finish her question before he answered.

"The sunny sky's motel, not far from here." He answered, turning out of the parking lot, just as another car drove in. The sound of people talking could be heard, and she saw some in the rear-mirror, collecting around the place of the explosion.

"I hope they don't get hurt." She said, frowning. What if the death-eater was still there?

He sent her a quick glance, muttering a small curse and then whispering something that seemed like a continuation of that. "Christo."

Was he catholic or something? Muttering Jesus Christ's name like that? Hermione shook her head, wondering. "What?" She asked.

"Just checking something, is all." He said, feeling a bit calmer about the strange girl in his car. Something had just exploded beside them and she was all cold, like she was used to it. For a second he had been scared of having her in his car, but there had been no reaction to the Christian name. So no demon, at least. Maybe she was something else. Or a real hardcore criminal hunter. Maybe even a hunter of the supernatural. That would explain the whole wizard-searching thing, but he had to be careful. One never knew who to trust in his business.

"I hope none of them get hurt too, but I have a pretty good idea it might have been me it was after." He said. Sometimes the supernatural would come seek them out to kill them before being killed. Maybe this was some of that.

Hermione studied him, worry on her face. "Who are you?" She asked. "What do you mean, 'it'?"

Dean could almost feel his stress-level rising, just as it seemed all traces of alcohol had left his body.

"Listen,-" He said, looking at the road. "-There are things out there, things you haven't even dreamt off in your scariest nightmares. Things like monsters, vampires, demons, werewolves, ghosts and all that other stuff. Stuff like witches and magic." He glanced at her face, trying to keep track of her thoughts and the road at the same time. "We, me and my brother Sam, hunts those things and kill them. So sometimes they come chasing us. That's why I say 'it' since I have no idea what it is."

The woman had stiffened, staring at him in shock. Great, now he had to take care of that too.

He, however, had no idea of the thoughts in Hermione's head. A hunter. A hunter of demons and vampires and other stuff. Stuff like witches and magic. Oh, for the love of Slytherin, how did she always manage to find herself mixed up in these sort of situations? Hanging out with guys who were life threatening dangerous? And how the hell would she explain the death-eater trying to kill her, and now maybe him too, without revealing herself a witch. Hell, if he did not kill her, he would still hate her. And somehow she did not want that. She did not want the green-eyed hunter to hate her. Merlin, where had she gone wrong in her life to end up like this? New Hermione, right, forget that. New Hermione was trouble. But still, old Hermione could not get the feeling of Dean's body against hers out of her mind and she longed to be back there. To feel like new Hermione again. Crap.

"So..." She trailed off. "What if you meet something, not evil supernatural?"

"Depends." He said.

"On what?" She asked.

"On whether we can trap it or we have to kill it." And at that they fell quiet, until he glanced at her again.

"You seem pretty cool about all this." He said.

She shrugged, her throat dry. "I'm sort of used to explosions." She answered. "I,-" Her voice got caught and she changed her mind on what she was going to say. "-I had a friend who had a habit of somehow blowing up stuff in school." It was true, in some way, since she had had a friend called Seamus who was a natural at explosion-curses. But what she had been about to tell him was that she had been in battle before, fighting for her life, with explosions all around her and friends dying by her side.

"Oh?" Dean said.

"Yeah." She answered. "And then, about the whole supernatural thing, I guess it makes sense. I mean, I'm hunting a wizard and all..." She drifted off, trying to make it somewhat like a joke.

"True." He said, turning down a street with a huge sign saying 'Sunny Sky Motel – Cottages and hut's for any couple or traveller'. Below the words were a faded painting of a once bright yellow sun on a blue background, dimly lit from lamps at the top of it.

Dean made a crooked smile as he halted the car outside the tiny hut he and Sam had rented. Bless her if she did not seem to be handling it all very well.


	3. Chapter 3

_**3**_

Dean stepped out from the car, walking round to open her door for her, but she was out before he reached it, a small smile at the corner of her lips.

"I can handle myself, thank you." She said, a light in her eyes, telling him that she was teasing. But there was also something serious in her eyes, something that made him wonder if she had not tried something like this before, something like being hunted. Like she had learned, somehow, that you could not always rely on others for protection.

He raised his hand in surrender, his own cocky smile a reaction to hers, as he leaned back a little against the front end of his impala. "Great." He said. "Saves me a whole lot of trouble, then."

Hermione bit her lip, thinking. "How so?" She asked.

He grinned at her. "Means it's going to be a whole easier taking care of you."

Insult on her face, she put up her chin, looking stubborn. "Who says you're getting to take care of me?" She asked, sort of angry but also flattered.

His face turned serious. "I do." He said. "That thing, whatever it is, might come after you because it saw you with me. And I'm not letting anyone who gets involved with me or Sammy get hurt."

She pondered on that for a second, trying to decide what to do. Then she looked him in the eyes, those deep green eyes, so dark in the almost non-existent light.

"And pray tell, what would you do if it was me it was after?" She asked.

"I'd protect you." He said. "That's my job."

She was silent for a while, then as per impulse, she kissed him softly on the lips, standing on her toes to do so.

"Thank you." She whispered. "But..." Her voice trailed off.

Dean took her hand. "Why would it be after you?" He asked, softly.

And then they were interrupted by a voice Hermione did not know, but that Dean knew better than his own.

"Dean?" Sam asked as he came walking down the road, stopping. "Should I go again, or...?" He asked and half turned around, pointing with his thumb behind him.

Dean looked up, sighed, looked down and then at his brother. "No, Sam." He said. "I guess you better stay and join in the conversation."

Sam, confused, but used to these kind of situations, came over to them as they walked up to the hut. Dean held the door for Hermione, laughing at her scowl.

"I wager that you're not going to loose any muscles because I open the door." He said, smiling.

She smiled too, not noticing how Sam rolled his eyes at his brother, wondering what the hell was wrong with him. Dean always seemed to loose the ability to act like an intelligent person when a girl was involved. Not that he was all that smart normally, but still.

When they walked in, Hermione looked around her, noticing the unpacked bags and the tidy beds, yet to be used and barely visible through the open door. Seemed Sam and Dean was close, if they shared a room, but not too close since they did not share a bed.

Dean coughed to catch her attention, nodding towards Sam. "Hermione, this is my brother Sam Winchester." He said. "Sam, this is Hermione,-" And he stopped, realising he did not know her last name.

"Granger." She provided him. "Hermione Granger, from England." She said, then she turned on Dean. "And you really shouldn't run around flashing a fake FBI ID."

Sam looked at her, then at Dean and laughed. Dean looked stunned. "How did you know?" He asked.

Hermione rolled her eyes. How stupid did he think she was? Sure, it had been easy for him to get her outside, but she had not seemed that brain-dead, had she?

"The names, stupid." Sam said, giving him a small punch on his shoulder. "She seems to be quite a bit sharper than your usual girls." He was still grinning.

"Whatever." Dean said, pushing his brother in a brotherly sort of way, before he turned serious again. "Now, let's talk." He said, pulling out a chair and sitting on it the wrong way, so that he could lean his arms against the back of it.

Sam seemed wary all of a sudden, as he pulled out one chair from the table and reached it to her, before sitting down on another chair. At least, he sat normally, though leaned forward towards her a bit.

She sat down, trying not to be too conscious of their stares. Dean noticed, that unlike in the bar, she suddenly seemed unsure again, collecting her legs and holding her own hand, nervously. "So." She said. "What do you want to know?"

Sam looked utterly confused. Dean, however, did not seem to care about his brother right there. "Why do you think the thing that attacked us is after you, not me?" He asked.

Sam looked at Dean. "You were attacked?"

"Yeah, get over it. Nothing new." Dean responded, not taking his eyes from Hermione's.

Hermione took a deep breath, collecting her thoughts. "Remember the guy I'm hunting?" She asked.

Dean nodded, Sam just leaned back, observing them.

"Well. I'm not just calling him a wizard. He is one, and an evil one with magic and all." She explained. "And he knows that he's being chased, and he's seen me before. That's where the explosion came from. His magic powers."

"You're being chased by a psychic?" Sam asked, glancing at Dean.

Hermione shook her head. "He's not psychic, though he might have learned some divination. It's magic, the kind you work with a wand, and he's killing people with it, have killed people with it. Besides, I'm the one chasing him."

"A wand?" Dean asked, grinning. "You didn't say anything about that earlier, and excuse me, but you don't exactly look like the hunting type."

Hermione put her chin out again, insulted. A face Dean was beginning to recognize. She crossed her arms, almost like holding herself together.

"Like you'd have believed me." She said, looking away, then looking at him again. "I know what you are. I've read about your kind of people, hunting everything that's different, everything that's not human." She stood. "I'm different. I'm not a hunter, so sure, I don't look like one. But I've told you, I can take care of myself."

Dean shrugged. "And I told you I'd protect you if it was you it was chasing." He said.

Hermione looked straight at him, her large doe-like eyes serious, hesitating, maybe even scared.

"Remember that I asked you what you would do if you found something supernatural, but not evil?" She asked, her voice steady although she seemed like it should be shaking. Hell, Hermione herself was impressed it did not.

Sam's mouth fell open as he put his hands to his forehead, realising. Dean did not realise anything, just stared at her, a bit angry and confused.

"But you told us that it killed things!" He said. "Clearly, that must mean,-"

"Dean!" Sam interrupted him.

Dean looked at his brother, suddenly understanding. Hermione could not help but taking a step back, frightened by his expression.

"What are you?" Dean asked her, his face like stone.

Hermione looked at him, this time her jaw was set again but it seemed to be because of frustration, more than stubbornness.

"Human." She said. "And so is the man I'm chasing."

Sam leaned back, looking like he had given up on the conversation, or maybe just thinking. Analysing the situation. He seemed smart.

Dean had also leaned back, almost as if he did not want to be close to her any more. "Sure." He said. "That's what they all say." He stood up. "What are you?" He asked. "Some kind of witch?"

Hermione sunk something, looking around because she could not make herself look at him for long, feeling helpless.

"Yeah." She said. "I'm a witch, but not the kind that makes a deal with devils." She continued, remembering the stories she had read when she had first gotten her Hogwarts letter. "I'm the kind that were born with the powers. The kind that went to a school, learned to control them and got a job hunting those that do not keep to the laws and uses the unforgivable curses."

They stared at her for a bit. Just stared. Then Sam got up too, laying a hand on his brother's shoulder. "Dean, relax." Because Dean's face had turned even colder than before, even more tense and strained. For a second, Hermione was scared he was going to hit her.

But then he seemed to regain control of himself, and then he looked at her again, his eyes seemingly normal.

"A school?" He asked. "For witches and wizards?"

She could see in his face that he did not believe her. Again, frustration and helplessness filled her, tears in her eyes, and then she did something she hadn't done in years. She slammed her foot to the floor, like one of the hysterical teenagers in films. Even Dean looked shocked at that.

"A school, Dean! Is that so hard to understand?" She asked, almost yelling, putting her hands out.

"And the reason you're so used to explosions and stuff is because of your job?" Dean asked, even more amazed and unbelieving.

Hermione shook her head, so some of her curls, those that had not already escaped, came loose from ponytail.

"No. No, that was because of the war, but..." Merlin, how had she gotten involved in all this? Maybe she should run away, apparate, disappear from these people. She would do so too, if they decided that she was a witch that needed hunting. "But the war is over." She said. "And some of the murderers that started it, carried it out, escaped and they're dangerous!" She tried to explain.

Dean shook his head. "We hunt witches." He said.

Sam, still a hand on his brother's arm, looked from one to another.

"Dean, we don't have to hunt her. We don't know if she's hurt anyone." Sam said, reasoning with him.

"She's been to war." Dean answered. "She just said so. She's hunting others, so of course she's hurt someone." And Hermione could not argue back. She had no arguments that would work. They would know that she was lying, because she had hurt people. She remembered the faces of the death-eaters in the great battle, the dying looks of her friends and enemies, the pain of the curses that had hit her, and the curses she had cast herself. Sure, it had been for a good cause and for her friends, for her life, but still... She remembered the screams and the smell of burning, puking and blood as if it was still around her, wavering in her memory.

And they saw it in her face, she could see that they both saw it and she felt herself going pale. The fear of the fights still burning within her.

"She's killed people, Sam. She knows it and we know it." Dean said, taking a step forward as she took one back. "You can see it on her face. In those bewitching eyes of hers." He spit on the floor, almost as if he was disgusted that they had kissed earlier.

She sank something again, looking at him, feeling her face turning to stone.

"I have never killed, except in self defence." She said. "Can you say the same for all the creatures you've hunted?"

And as they looked into each other's eyes, she turned on her left foot, disapparating into nothingness, running, again, from what was in front of her. Fleeing from the reality that she could not face. The same thing she did each time someone seemed to like her, evading them until she had no choice but to face them. Maybe it would have went better with Ron, had she been brave enough to show her feelings earlier. Maybe it would have worked with Krum, had she tried to actually meet him, instead of pushing it further and further, until he gave up on her. The only time she had stood and fought was for her friends, for Hogwarts. But that was only because she needed her friends, because she did not want to be the little girl, crying all alone in the bathroom anymore.

Now she was alone Again.


	4. Chapter 4

_**4.**_

Hermione reappeared at her hotel room, a real hotel, not just a motel, but within the same town. The room was small, but clean and neat looking. Her things were unpacked, scattered around, but in a neat manner, that made them easy to find if needed. Her home for three days.

Sitting on the bed, she let her tears of frustration free and heaving for breath, she got the crying over with quickly and without sobbing. She dried her eyes while waving her wand and renewing the protective charms around her room, making sure the death-eater would not find her. She never had been one of those drama-criers.

Maybe she should just send her patronus to tell the others that she could not handle this mission, that there were hunters, and that she was taking the first port-key home. On the other hand, she did not want to give up. She wanted to see this through, since this whole making sure that Voldemorts supports got what they deserved, had become her way of dealing with life. Sure, she had loved to go back to Hogwarts for her last year of school, and getting her education. And sure, life had been peaceful and it had been amazing to not have to worry. But she had worried, had found herself waking up at night, dreaming of how Bellatrix had tortures her and screaming from the pain that was no longer there. So after school, she had gotten out to find those death-eaters that had not gone into hiding, but continued to hurt other people.

And then there was the fact that her contact, Hannibal Harrison, a fabulous blonde who she did not like, was going to come see her the day after the one that had only just begun. Hannie's job was to check up on Hermione, making sure that everything was as it should be and that she had not been killed yet. Not the best work arrangement since Hermione and Hannie hated each other.

Tired, she got to her feet, pulling of her shirt and removing her ponytail so that her hair fell freely around her face. Soon after socks and bra followed, and then her jeans. Only dressed in her panties, she took her shampoo, went to the bathroom and took of the last of her clothes, turning on the shower.

The cold water turned warm quickly enough, washing away the sweat and smells of the day, from the explosions and... Washing away the smell of cheap whiskey and man that had stuck to her since she had kissed Dean. Somehow she felt sad, letting her fingers trace the places he had touched, before taking the soap and beginning to wash her hair. No reason to cry about spilled milk. Still, the water raining on her face suddenly seemed to taste slightly salty.

What was wrong with her lately? Sure, she always cried a lot before, but that was from grief and from pain and hurt and heartbreak. But she did not use to cry about little things like this.

At least the warm water seemed to wash the turmoil of her heart away too, leaving her strangely calm and tired. Sad, but not broken.

Stepping from the shower she dried her body quickly, using a heating-spell to dry her hair. Like that she pulled on the large t-shirt she always slept in, planning to get in a couple of hours of sleep, before she had to get up again. The death-eater only returned to his camp at the end of the night.

Sleeping hours went quickly, and she woke to her clock, beeping and telling her that it was four in the morning. Only three hours of sleep. Not much. But she got up anyway.

Then she put some clean clothes on, jeans again, but this time a black turtle-neck sweater instead of the t-shirt from before. After all, it got cold towards the small hours and she had a job to get over with and done, before the hunter ended up becoming the hunted.

She smiled, at that thought. Sure, the hunters scared her, but she was the brightest witch her age, and she had hunted death-eaters before, many more than those brothers would ever get to. Hell, they had not even discovered the magic society that spread across the world. She would bet that they had never ridden a blind dragon, nor played nanny for a giant.

Hermione could handle herself. She did not need a hunter who might turn on her.

But a warm tingling in the bottom of her stomach told her that, in some ways, she might need him anyway.

Shaking the feeling away, she found the protective charm, dipped in Felix Felicis, a luck bringer. Ginny and Luna had given it to her when she got her first job, and she never went out on a mission without it. It was a golden medallion with a tiny radish in it, probably Luna's idea since she thought a lot about radishes that Hermione did not agree with. But she treasured the trinket none the less. Even if it did, at times, remind her of the horrible hocrux she had once worn while trying to find a way to destroy it. Therefore she never put it on, but kept it in the chest-pocket of her jacket.

She put on her shoes, and for the second time that evening, she apparated to a different place, knowing that she wanted the job finished tonight, well today, since the sun would be up in three hours. She missed her friends, and her home, and her grumpy cat.

Seconds later she was standing on the roof of a building, not far from an old apartment complex that had been abandoned. But as she had learned on the run with Harry and Ron, a wizard would have no trouble making an abandoned house nice and cosy. And this death-eater had made it his home.

Carefully making her way down the only slightly tilted roof-side, she made no sound. She could not see anything in there, but her search-spells had revealed the wards and protective charms around the place, and she had even caught a glimpse of the guy before he had renewed the invisibility-charm in the room he had chosen as his hiding place.

It should be easy, to go in, stun him, and take him back to be judged. But as always the nervous critters and adrenalin filled her when she apparated into the room beside the one the death-eater occupied, her wand ready in her hand.

Only to find that, in this room, there was a man too, one with magic. One glance on his arm confirmed him to be a death-eater.

The man, who apparently had been sitting by a small fire, making coffee, got to his feet and pulled his wand incredibly fast, when she said the words; "_Paralysicus Totalus_", he had already mumbled another spell and deflected it.

"_Expecto patronum_." She said, still keeping calm.

The man smiled, his grey hair hanging greasy around his face, as he blocked. "_Flipendo._" He said, as calmly as her, and a spell she reflected in time, already yelling a new one at him, one designed to lock his arms and legs together and immobilise him. "_Petrificus Totalis_!"

"_Mimble Winble._" He said calmly, locking her tongue and making it impossible for her to say even the smallest word. "That was always my favourite in school, being able to lock someone's words so that they had to get somebody else to release them." He said, cold to the bone.

Hermione set her chin, stubborn though a bit scared. Sure, most witches and wizards never bothered learning thought-magic, but Hermione was not the type to 'not bother' about something. She lifted her wand again, as quick as she could, releasing her own tongue.

The man, realising it, smiled and pointed his wand at her like he had no reason to hurry in the whole wide world.

"_Crucio."_ He said, almost sneering. But still, he smiled as she buckled down on the floor, writhing in pain and screaming on top of her lungs.

He walked closer to her, his wand still pointed at her. "_Crucio._" He said again, making her buckle backwards again, her back wretched with the pain that seemed to be everywhere.

Then he stopped, mumbling a quick body bind at her, locking her limbs and disabling her ability to move.

"They should know better than sending a girl, barely fresh out of school." He said, sneering at her.

She stared back, her mind still recoiling from the pain, but her pride forbidding her to look away in fright. Still, silent tears ran down her cheeks.

"Those fresh out of school have seen more battles than many other wizards still alive." She said, her voice hoarse. "Because of you and your kind."

The man looked at her, and then he said the curse again _-"Crucio"-,_ making her scream till her throat felt bloody. In some ways it was worse than before, because she could not move. Could not even try to find a position that would ease the pain, a position that did not exist anyway.

Tears continued to run from her eyes, as the pain made her sob in horror, gasping for air. Her stomach revolted against the pain, as she threw up on the floor, almost drowning in it because she could not move.

"_Crucio"_

Pain, terrifying, agonizing, horrible, pain. She was still screaming, but she could hear him laughing, the son of a bitch. This should have been such a simple job, if only he had not been so quick.

"_Crucio"_

Pain, that made her grit her teeth and scream at the same time.

"_Crucio"_

Pain. Screams. Her screams.

"_Crucio"_

Nothing but pain. Somebody screaming.

And then, something her brain barely registered. The sound of a gunshot, and the pain ending, leaving her unconscious on the floor, tired and, -maybe- broken.

Dean shot again, making sure that the... wizard-thing... was gone, after having turned and disappeared the same way as Hermione had left earlier, before he ran to her, checking her neck for a pulse and breathing a sigh of relief as he found that she had one. Then he frowned, since he should not care much if she lived or died.

He looked around the room, wondering how the tiny fire on the floor kept it so warm, and wondering why he had not been able to hear Hermione's screams before opening the door. Magic he guessed. Sam was looking through the wizard's things, searching for papers or curses objects, or anything, really, that could help them fight a thing that promptly disappeared when shot at.

Then he lifted Hermione, wondering about how little she weighted, and strode from the room, looking over his shoulder at Sam. "Are you coming?" He asked. "We've gotta get out of here."

Sam nodded, his mouth tight. He did not like when they did not know the things they were up against. He held his gun at his thigh, ready to raise it if needed. Especially not after the opening of the hell-gate and with all the demons that escaped there.

Dean however, held the girl tightly to his chest, and though he was paying attention to the surroundings, tense and prepared for action, he could not help but marvel at her small frame, and the feeling that filled him. The feeling that he needed to protect her, this petite brunette, so helpless in his arms, so passionate earlier that evening.

And now, so pale and hurt. He could still hear her screams, and he prayed in his heart that nothing was broken inside her. She did not seem to have any visible wounds, but that pain, he feared it was not possible without something being torn inside her.

Gently laying her in the back of the impala, knowing that he could not hold her while driving, her turned the car on, as Sam came in.

"I let the fire spread in there. All the things will be gone soon." Sam said.

Dean could already see the smoke in the rear-mirror as they drove off, back to the motel. He pressed his foot down on the speeder. He wanted to hurry and make sure Hermione was all right.


	5. Chapter 5

_A/N; Some pointed out something I myself had been strugling with, that Hermione would not be foolish enough to go hunt someone she could not capture. Therefore there have been a small change in chapter four, a very small change, that makes her less pathetic. You can go re-read it, but it's only one added sentence that makes a whole lot of difference. Or you can just read on and you should still be able to get what's happening. _

* * *

_**5**_

When she woke up, it was almost light outside, and she was laying on an unfamiliar bed. She still had the same clothes on, but someone had cleaned her face. Or at least it was not as sticky as she felt it should have been.

Touching her cheek, gently as if to check she could move, she tried to sit up, but a hand on her shoulder pushed her back down. Turning her head, she saw Dean.

"How...?" She asked, her voice broken and ruined.

"We tracked the thing, man, from the alley behind the bar. Some people had seen him, and others was talking about light flashing from time to time in the abandoned house, so we went to check it out." He told her. "We started by searching the lower floors and then the room with the flashing light. There were nothing in there, but a quickly extinguished fire and a small tent. We couldn't hear you screaming till we opened the door to the next room. I shot, and the guy disappeared."

She looked at him, wondering why he had saved her, but then she smiled at him. It was simple. He was not a bad man, so he would not have been able to let her die. She tried to sit up again, put he pushed her down as gently as he had done before. She sighed.

"I'm fine, Dean." She said.

He snorted at the sound of her hoarse voice.

"No one screams like that and is simply 'fine' afterwards." He said. "You've been unconscious for more than twelve hours already and you expect me to believe that nothing hurts after he tortured you?"

Her eyes widened in surprise. More than twelve hours? That would mean that she was supposed to be meeting Hannie right now, and that what she had thought was the sky beginning to lighten, was actually the evening turning it dark.

"I'm fine, really. The Crusiatus curse only makes your mind think it hurts." She shivered as she said it. "Although it can break people, and some die from the pain, it does not hurt the body. At least not when you are bound like I was." She explained. Had she been free, she might have hit her head or broken something writhing and trying to escape the pain. She had even heard of people biting their tongues off and dying.

He still looked sceptical. "Even so." He said. "It should still have exhausted your body and mind."

She clenched her teeth. "I. Am. Fine." She said, swinging her legs off the bed, sitting upright. "But thank you for worrying." She looked at the clock on the night stand. It blinked, its red numbers disappearing and reappearing. 08.47. She should have met Hannie almost an hour ago.

She collected her thoughts, wondering what had happened. She should only have been chasing one death-eater, but apparently there were at least two, and one was a lot better at concealment-charms than the other. She had been certain that the room she apparated into had been vacant, and the death-eater had been in the one next door. She had gotten careless, wanting to escape the closeness of the hunters and had made a mistake. Well, escape the closeness of Dean.

"Hermione." He said. "I am not letting you go out there to get taken down again. If you can't handle the guy, don't go after him."

She set her jaw again, a gesture he was getting to be familiar with. "There was more than one." She said. "I am not making the same mistake again." She stood up, searching for her wand, but unable to see it, and knowing that there was little chance they had brought it with them, she looked at Dean. "What did you do with the apartment-complex?" She asked.

He shrugged. He just shrugged. "Burned it."

She fell back down on the bed, her legs collapsing. They burned the freaking house down. They burned her wand and the freaking fucking building down. "You didn't think to save anything?" She asked, desperately hoping.

"Na-h." He said shrugging again. "Nothing really. Sammy picked up your stick, though."

How easily he could shrug off the things that had importance to her. She glared at him. "Where is it?" She asked. "Did you leave it?"

He held up his hands as if to fend off an attack. "Calm down! It's in one of the boxes we use to seal cursed objects." He said.

She just stared at him like he was insane. "Why, just why, would you put it in there?" She asked, wondering how stupid a man was allowed to be.

"When Sam picked it up, he swears that sparks came out of it. And when we got back here a vase suddenly exploded out of nowhere when he pointed at it." Dean said, very seriously. "That thing is dangerous."

Huh, seemed Dean's brother had magic in him, or at least some amount of psychic powers that the wand had picked up on. The exploding vase had most likely been because the wand rejected him, but if it was because it did not like his powers, or because it already had chosen her, she did not know.

"Just give it back." She said. "It's no more dangerous than those guns you run around with. And unlike those, it's not dangerous unless people know how to use it."

He stood, sending her an annoyed glance.

"What?" She asked, just as annoyed as him.

"Just thinking,-" He said, and she almost asked him not to strain himself. "-about how you seem more worried about your stick, than the fact that we saved you."

"It's not a stick." She said, but then realised that she was avoiding the stinging part of his words. "And I'm sorry." She said. "Thank you."

He seemed satisfied with this, as he walked over to a black box, covered with white symbols. He brought it back to her, opening it on the way so that she could pick up her wand from within it. "Looks like a stick to me." He said, a cocky smile on his face. She glanced at him, checking that her wand was okay.

"A stick can't do magic." She said. "It needs a core to channel the powers within a person."

"Sure." He said, sarcastic and shrugging. Merlin, this guy was annoying.

"Sure." She repeated, standing up. Her legs seemed more stable now, she had her wand and she needed to find Hannie to explain why she had not been there and ask her to call in some more of the Ministry's aurors to help capture the death-eaters. "And now I'm leaving." She proclaimed, getting ready to apparate.

But Dean grabbed her hand, holding her wand locked in place and gave her a condescending smile. "I don't think so." He said. "You were screaming, like someone put a knife to your gut, like you'd gone to hell." He said, a plagued look in his eyes. "And then you were unconscious for more than twelve hours." His face had turned to stone. "I am not letting you leave now."

She stared at him. "I have to." She said. "I need to tell my contact that there's more than one of them."

He pulled a mobile from his pocket and held it out to her, stern, and not backing down.

Muttering a small curse she took it from him, trying to remember the number and then pressing the buttons as she dug Hannie's numbers from her memory, even though she never had called it before. She was good with numbers, always had been.

It beeped about three times, while Hermione and Dean waited in silence, then Hannie picked up.

"_Hannie-honey here, who is it?"_ She asked.

"It's me." Hermione said. "And before you freak out, I'm okay. Something came up, so I couldn't get to the meeting."

"_What?" _Hannie continued. "_Hermione, what happened?"_

"There was another one, Hannie." She said. "I think they've tag-teamed us for weeks, only leaving one at a time and letting us see that one on purpose.

"_So there's two of them?" _Hannie did not seem surprised, nor worried. Well, Hannie and Hermione never had liked each other.

"I'm not sure. Maybe there's more, but I've only seen the two of them. One got me with the Crusiatus curse, but I escaped. The apartment's burned down, though." Hermione explained.

"_I sent for some aurors when you didn't show. Thought you might have bought the ticket." _Hermione sighed, sometimes she honestly preferred it when Hannie faked being nice.

"Thank you for those heartfelt words." She said. "Can you send a patronus to tell them that I'm alive? But tell them to come anyway, I can't take them on alone. One lousy wizard I can handle, but that _and _one who can actually fight? I'm not that good."

"_Too bad, so sad. I guess I'll tell them that the '_brightest witch her age' _can't handle it on her own. See ya." _And then Hannie hung up on her. Just like that.

Frustrated, Hermione handed the phone back to Dean. "Great." She said. "Just bloody peachy." And then, for Merlin knows which time that evening, she sat down on  
the bed again.

"Now what?" She asked, noticing how Dean was observing her.

"Now, I get you something to drink, water or something, and then you eat something and then you go back to sleep." He said. "I believe that it's something called recuperating." Sarcasm again. He seemed to use that a lot.

At that moment she could hear the door open, and a voice calling out. "Dean? I'm back. She up yet?"

Dean turned his head in the direction of the voice. "Yeah. And already making trouble. Did you get something decent to eat?"

Sam appeared in the door of the bedroom, a huge paper bag in his arms, that he went and sat down on a little table. Then he pulled one of those large black plastic boxes up, in which they sold the ready-made salads that seemed so popular at recent times.

Dean seemed to recognise it too, as disappointment registered on his face. "Hell dude, I said _decent _food, like steak or pie or something."

"And I told you, we've got to start eating healthier while we're on the road. It's been weeks since you last ate anything green!" Sam said, but still, he pulled out a white plastic thing, with see-through plastic on top, where you could see some beef or something, with potatoes. And then he pulled up a pie, this one in black plastic box, like the salad, and with a see-through top.

Hermione could already feel her mouth watering as the smell of food hit her.

Sam threw her a bottle of water, -that she only just managed to catch-, and got plates from the kitchen, while Dean sneaked over to peak at the pie and the meat.

Drinking from the bottle, she realised how thirsty and famished she was, and she wondered when she had last eaten a proper meal, and came to the conclusion that it must have been the evening before. Afterwards she had went to the bar to get a drink to calm down.

Eating here, with the sound of the brothers bantering with each other, the night slowly falling outside and feeling of not being alone for the first time in months, she felt strangely at peace.


	6. Chapter 6

_**6**_

Hermione was dreaming. She was laying on her back, partly on a carpet and partly on the cold stone floor, staring at the ceiling as she tried to hang on to her sanity through the pain. Images of Frank and Alice Longbottom flashed before her eyes as the curse hit her again and again, while the insane laughter of Bellatrix filled the room and her mind.

The pain from the cuse stopped, only for her to see Bellatrix come closer and closer, a silver knife in her hand, a mad look in her eyes, and a hungry grin on her lips as she drank in the atmosphere of despair. When the knife cut Hermione's skin, she screamed.

Only to sit straight up in the bed she'd borrowed from Sam, making him sleep on the couch in the other room. Sweat and tears ran of her as she pulled her legs to her chest, trying to keep what little warmth that was left in her body. Even the warmth from the hot bath shower she had taken before sleeping, seemed to have fled her. Quiet sobs ran through her, as she remembered the cruel torture she had been subject to.

Her fingers absently traced the scars on her shoulders, hidden beneath the t-shirt she used for sleeping. She knew that they were almost invisible on her pale skin, six clean lines on one shoulder and five on the other. They were rarely noticed, but if you touched her skin, or if she tanned under the sun, they would be. Her parents did not even know of them. Only Ron, Harry and those who had been in the room when it happened, or at Bill's and Fleur's house afterwards.

Dean, no doubt waken by her small sounds, sounds she had thought soundless, rose on the other bed, confused, as he looked at her.

"Hermione?" He asked, his voice low.

"I'm fine." She said, but her voice shook. "It was just a nightmare." Or a memory, really, though she did not say it.

He got up and walked over, to sit on the edge of her bed. She collected the covers around her, to keep the last of her warmth with her, but also as a sort of shield. A shield against the nearness of this man, this hunter who seemed to have captured her so completely.

"I know about nightmares." Dean said, his throat dry and his voice sounding broken.

She looked at him, noticing how strained his face looked, understanding how hard it was for him to admit this. She reached out, beyond her shielding covers, and put a hand on his shoulder.

"I understand why you hunt." She said.

He looked her in the eyes, his body turning stiff. "You do?" He asked, his eyes revealing how his guard had come back up. Because she had magic, because she was a witch.

She looked away. She could not bear to see the judgement in his eyes, condemning her for being what she was born as.

"Not all witches and wizards are good. Not all magic is either." She looked out the window. "Some people should have never learned how to use magic. Some turn rabid and mad." She put her hands to her shoulders, crossing her arms and holding herself together like that. She could not feel the scars through the t-shirt, but she knew that they were there.

Dean reached out to her, as she had done to him before, and put his hand on top of hers. "Not all humans are good either." He said, remembering hunters gone mad, humans killing other humans. His thoughts even strayed to a certain family that hunted humans for thrills. And then he thought further, to Sam who was wavering at the edge of what they both knew to be wrong, good people turned into monsters, and monsters turned human. And he thought of his time in hell, and the warrior angel that had pulled him out.

"It's a complicated world." He said, and she nodded, silent.

She looked at him, moving a little closer. "You nightmares..." She started. "They're not about... magic, are they?" She asked, hesitating.

He shook his head. "No." He said. "What I dream of isn't magic or monsters, or even demons." He could almost feel the pain in his shoulder and side as he said it. "I dream of flames and chains." He stood. He was leaving.

"Don't leave." She said. "Don't go drinking all alone again."

He looked back at her, his green eyes sad and haunted, making her forget her own pain as she stood, reaching towards him, wanting to take him in her arms and make all his worries fly away.

"Dean." She called.

And he stepped into her arms letting her put them around his neck, kissing him as he climbed onto the bed, putting her on her back. At first the kiss was gentle, but then the fire from the night before re-ignited and everything seemed to disappear around them.

As athletic as a hunting cat, he was on top of her, biting, kissing and playing with her mouth, his body, warm against hers, but his weight placed so she did not get squashed below him. Her hands were at his shirt, and he sat up, letting her take it of him and then taking hers off of her too.

Seeing her almost naked, except for the purple panties she had on, took his breath away and for a moment, he just looked at her. Then, unable to control himself, he kissed her again and she kissed him, her hands at his back, caressing, as he caressed her sides, enjoying the wonderful curve where ribs met hips.

Her soft skin quickly went from temperate to hot, responding to his touch in the most amazing way. A wet moan escaped her lips as he took her nipple in his mouth, biting, then sucking as he fondled the other one with his right hand.

Then, as she dug her fingers into his hair, taking a grip on it and pulled him to her mouth again for another kiss, he slid his hand down her bottom, feeling his already throbbing cock rise to its fullest, he let his fingers continue round and down her thighs, and then up again to the sweet wetness of her hidden parts.

Moaning at his touch, he felt her press against him so her back formed an arch above the sheets of the bed. Already she had hit ecstasy, and he continued, feeling her contract around his fingers as she clung to him in release. Then, as he felt her body relax, he kissed her again, gently stroking her skin. It was so incredibly smooth.

Then she did something unexpected, as she pushed him over, her legs spread so that she ended up on top of him, laying on his back in the sheets where she had been before. With a naughty smile that sent chills of excitement down his back, she moved down, pulling his underwear off him and touching his erection with curious fingers.

Then she started stroking it, bowing her head to take the tip of him in her mouth, her tongue making him take hold of the sheets, clutching them in his hands to hold back his release.

She stopped, giving him a chance to control himself, and rose above him, the moonlight hitting her face, breasts and making her skin luminous in the dark. And he rose, sat up with her in his lap, and put her back on the bed, letting his hands slide down her legs to her underwear, pulling it off slowly and gently, prolonging the experience, before kissing the inside of her thigh and pushing her legs apart. She pulled them up, bending them so that he would have easy access.

And as he entered her, she let out a long moan, almost as if she was holding back a scream of pleasure as to not wake up Sam.

He thrust into her, feeling how ready she was for him, even though it had not been long since she last came, and he was ready to, readied by her mouth and her lips, and the sheer beauty of her. When she started contracting around him, he could not hold it back any more and they came together, clinging to each other like a drowning couple.

Afterwards he stayed in her for some time, letting the last waves of completion roll over them, before pushing himself off her and down beside her. Laying further in on the bed, but very close to him, he had to look up to see her face instead of her shoulders and neck. She put her arms around him, holding him close, almost like a mother comforting her child.

A strange feeling of vulnerability ran through him as he pushed his nose to the small groove between her shoulder and her collarbone. Pulling back a little, he let his fingers gently slide over the skin on her shoulder, finding the minor raised lines of scars. He looked up, catching her eyes and seeing her embarrassed and worried look. Then it disappeared as she let her hand glide over his shoulder, finding the scars from when Castiel pulled him out of hell. They had both been marked on their shoulders, and somehow they both understood without words that those marks were related to the darkness in their dreams.

Her fingres continued to his tattoo, tracing the lines of the anti-possession mark.

"And you said a stick could not make magic." He said, his voice hoarse and embarrassed, as he felt that the closeness and intimacy got too much for him.

She giggled, something he had not expected her to, and kissed him on his lips.

"I take it back." She said, scuttling down a little so that their eyes where on line with each others.

Dean reached out and pulled the covers over them, hiding her nakedness for the moon and, in the morning, Sam.

He let his fingers explore her scars, nesting his head on his shoulder. She started playing with his hair, letting her fingers caress the short stubs of it, tugging at them from time to time.

He felt his eyelids get heavier. It felt sort of nice to have her fingers explore his scalp. It even felt sort of safe.

He closed his eyes and fell asleep. Not too long after, so did Hermione, her arms around him, like a pair of protective wings.

When Sam stepped into the room next morning, to wake them, he stopped in the door.

Dean was laying with his head on Hermione's chest, the covers only just preventing her breasts from being revealed and the sun glittering in their hair. Both had closed eyes and Sam could see them breathing calmly and peacefully.

Sam just stepped back into the other room, closing the door and returning to his computer and the research he had been making on their current job. No need to ruin the peace, when his brother so rarely found any.

* * *

_A/N; As I wrote this, I was actually sitting in biology-class and my classmate was looking at me for some time, though she couldn't see the screen, before asking what I was doing. Guess I must have looked sort of suspicious, huh? I told her I was writing a story about magic Sticks... And she was quiet. Very quiet. Then she just turned around without replying, and I still don't know if she understood, or if she just thought I was crazy. I guess I prefer the last._


	7. Chapter 7

_**7**_

Breakfast went quickly, as it was fast food. Hermione felt her stomach turn at the cheeseburger Sam had brought Dean, and felt grateful that he had gotten her a veggie-shake instead, even if she would have preferred cereal and milk, over salad. But it was fine, and she could always get something else later.

Both she and Dean had felt awkward when they woke up in each others arms, but not embarrassed. They had both needed each other, and they had reacted to that. It was nothing to be ashamed of, even if she had sort of avoided his eyes while dressing, Dean in his own clothes, Hermione in a borrowed t-shirt since her own smelled. And the awkward feeling had almost evaporated completely when Dean had pulled her close and kissed her to get it over with. She had reacted with the same amount of lust as in the bar, and kissed him back, and they were already about to take off their clothes again, when Sam came in with breakfast.

"Guess you caught your witch." Sam said, and after a sort of shocked moment of silence, both Dean and Hermione burst out laughing, and the last bit of tension disappeared.

And Sam had walked into the room, a new paper bag in his arms, and a smile on his face. "But before you start eating _her_, you better eat something else."

So they ate breakfast together, talking as they had the night before and further opening up about their lives. Hermione told them about her parents, and about how she had discovered her powers and how it had been. At this Sam seemed to glance at his brother, as though he would tell her something but then changed his mind because of a small shake of Deans head. So instead she told them of the ghosts on the school, the vampire she had met at Slughorn's party and about Lupin who was a werewolf, but who did not hurt people because of the potion madam Pompfrey had brewed for him each month.

They were very interested in that bit, asking in to the ingredients and how long to brew it, but Hermione had to admit that she was not all that sure on the details. So instead she promised to read up on it later, though the process needed magic that none, - except perhaps Sam, but he had no training-, of them had. She made it clear to them, that it was not a solution they could count on, and that the only other way to hold a werewolf back would be to lock it in during the period of full moon. They all knew that, some night, that would not work, and the conversation slid into silence.

"How about the vampire." Sam asked. "Did it go out of control, bit something or gave out red drinks?"

Hermione shook her head. "No. He was very civil, actually. Didn't say much, except for some comments about politeness and superstitions." She thought about it for a bit, remembering. "His companion talked a lot though, about how they had become friends and how the vampire owed him his life or something." An angry frown. Dean was becoming familiar with her expressions fast. "Almost seemed like the wizard had made him his pet. And that's just as wrong as the treatment of house-elves."

"House-elves?" Dean asked. "What is that? Some sort of gnomes?"

"No. Gnomes are different, though the house-elves are small like them, the height of a child really and they have magic, different from that of witches and wizards, but in some ways more powerful. For a long time they were treated like slaves in our society, since they cannot disobey their master without feeling compelled to punish themselves. But it's started to change lately. Most of them get pay for their work now, and have better living conditions." Hermione explained, as always a great enthusiast about house-elves and the betterment of their lives. After Dobby died and his story spread among the house-elves and wizards, more people started to care about how they treated their house-elf.

Harry had released Creature, on the condition that Creature still served him, and got his pay for it. Funny how Harry was the one who had conditioned the pay and Creature that he be allowed to continue his work.

Dean's cellphone rang when she started explaining about the dragons, after the conversation had moved onto magical creatures.

"Dean." He said as he picked it up, making sure that the other party knew who he were. Then he gave Hermione the cellphone, wrinkling his nose in disgust. "Your friend." He said.

Hermione took the phone and put it to her ear,-"Hello?"- only to be assaulted by Hannie's quick talking.

"_Hermione,where are you, doesn't matter, probably some cheap motel since I figured you'd come back to the hotel yesterday, and you didn't. Oh well, the aurors have arrived, it's that Weasel-kid you used to run around with, sorry, Weasly he says, and Greenhorn, Hopscotch and Williams. They're waiting in your room, right now, together with me, and we're not patient, so get your little bum back here and explain. Oh, and tell that Dean-guy that he should have better taste in women." _And yet again, before Hermione could even get a single word in the conversation, she hung up on her.

Hermione said a very unladylike word, making Sam send her a surprised look. Giving the phone back, she pulled out her wand.

"I have to go back now. Apparently my contact's turned my room into a meeting-place for the aurors they've sent to help catch the..." She glanced at them, knowing they would not understand the term death-eater. "...Wizards, that I've been hunting."

"Aurors?" Sam asked.

"Other bad-wiz hunters." She said, not really having the time to explain. Grabbing her jacket, she sent them both a smile. "See you later, maybe." And then she turned on her left foot, disappearing.

For a moment the brothers were silent.

"I did catch the witch." Dean said, smirking.

"To me it almost seemed the other way around." Sam replied.

Dean sent him a sour look. "Oh, shut up."

Landing in the middle of a very crowded room, Hermione felt slightly dizzy as she took in the five familiar faces of the people she normally worked with on a weekly basis.

Ron stood. "Hermione." She could see that he had been worried, and so had Greenhorn. Williams did not seem to care that she had arrived, and Hopscotch seemed to be very occupied, flirting with Hannie.

"Hi, guys." She said, feeling slightly embarrassed as she realised she still was wearing Dean's t-shirt. Ron seemed like he had too, looking a bit stumped about it. Even if they had broken up, they felt awkward when the other dated someone.

Anne Greenhorn, smiled to her, nodding towards the last unoccupied chair in the room. "Welcome back Hermione. Did you have fun?" There was a teasing gleam in her eyes, that Hermione could not help but smile at.

"Yeah. I did." She said, then bit her lip, embarrassed again. "But that's not the issue here. Have Hannie told you what's going on?" She asked.

Anne nodded, and so did Ron and Hopscotch grinned. Hannie crossed her arms under her breasts, whether because she was genuinely insulted by the insinuation that she had not done her job, or to give Fergus, Hopscotch, a better look, Hermione could not tell. Maybe both.

"Was he good?" Anne asked, reaching out and touching the t-shirt Hermione was wearing. Hermione noticed how Ron's ears got red. He still got angry at the thought of her with other guys, even though they both knew they would never get back together.

"Good." She said, ignoring Hannie and Anne. At first they had argued all the time, but then she had saved Hannie's life a couple of times on the missions, and Hannie had done the same for her. Now they tried to co-exist even though they were too opposite to get along. "I don't know their current hiding place,-"

"I used a search-spell as quickly as possible, while the trail was fresh. I have a pretty good idea where to find them." Hannie said, leaning back in the confident manner that was hers entirely.

"Great." Hermione said, making an effort not to get angry. Hannie annoyed the crap out of her. Even more than Lavender and Trelawney had done at school. And Hannie was supposed to be older and more mature, instead she was jealous and bitchy. But she was amazing at search-spells, concealment-charms and memory-spells. The perfect partner for an undercover hunt for death-eaters.

"So we'll just do as we usually do, I guess. There's at least two, maybe more, one who isn't very good at concealment-charms and another who's very good at duelling, like Harry good." She said. Harry was the best she had ever met at magic fights and duels. "And he's a sadistic ass-hole too." She added, remembering too vividly the pain of the crusiatus curse.

"Shouldn't we hurry up and put him in jail then?" Ron asked. He was angry now, angry that someone had hurt her. She knew him well enough to see that, even though he had learned to hide it while working as an auror.

"Two seconds." Hannie said. "Just going to cast a quick spell to make completely sure I've got the place right." She lifted her wand, closed her eyes and started mumbling almost soundless incantations.

Hopscotch looked almost spellbound at her, clearly appreciating her low neckline, and Hermione almost giggled at his slightly open mouth. Sure, she did not like Hannie, but there was something amusing about how the arrogant guys always seemed to be enchanted by her, and not in the magical meaning of the word. Then she opened her eyes and stopped mumbling the spells.

Hannie stood, her perfect breast making a bit of a jump in the motion, and smiled to the group. "I've got the place now, so let's get going." She said, and as they all took hold of each other, she apparated them off to a new scene.

They were standing in an alley with a rough uneven wall and a parking-lot to the side. Bricks were burned and falling appart at some places, and Hermione realised that this was the alley behind the bar, Devil's 8, where she had met Dean and where she had been... uhm... pushed against the wall.

"Hannie... Are you sure this is the right place?" She asked. "It does not seem like a hiding place to me."

Hannie's brow was furrowed as she looked around. "I'm not sure." She said. "This should be the right place, but, I don't know. It seemed different with the visualisation-charm I combined with the usual seaching-spells.

Hopscotch was looking at the red neon-sign, barely visible from the alley. "Maybe they got thirsty?" He provided.

Both Hannie and Hermione looked at him like he was stupid, but Anne said something before they did. "No, that's not it." She stepped further into the alley, staring at the wall that made it a dead end. "Remember the entrance to Diagonally street behind the Leaky Cauldron?" She asked, a grin on her face. "It's very complicated concealment and dimension magic that's used for hiding that. But I guess Hermione was right when she said he was good."

And Anne lifted her wand, tapping five bricks and seconds after a way opened through it to another alley-end. Only that within the four walls,- including the one who now had an arched opening,- was a tent. A wizard tent.

The aurors had found their prey.


	8. Chapter 8

_**8**_

The rest of it went rather easy. Anne and Hopscotch raised barriers to protect them from the curses and counter-curses of the death-eaters, while Ron put their tent on fire to drive them out. There was three, so Ron took out the man with the greasy grey hair, while Hannie quickly stunned the one they initially had been chasing. Hermione got the last one with a body-bind, just as he came out the tent.

All in all, the whole thing was rather uneventful, except for one thing; The greasy-haired guy, Hopscotch called him Dave Spindler, lashed out towards Hermione like a rabid dog.

"You bitch!" He yelled, spit flying around his face. "I should have just killed you! Killed you!"

And Ron, very promptly, hit him in the back of the head and his lights vent out. His knees buckled and he was unconscious on the ground.

"Thanks." She said, calming her heartbeat.

"No problem." Ron replied.

"Ready to go back to the port-key and wait for the next ride?" Anne asked, but Hermione shook her head, hesitating.

"Can you take them back, please?" She asked the others.

Ron sent her a suspicious look, but then she saw in his eyes how he just gave up. It stung a little, but this way they could be better friends. Maybe the awkwardness would stop.

"Why?" Hopscotch asked. "It's your prey, so you should hand them in with us."

Hermione still hesitated. "The port-key is set to eight in the morning, right?"

Hannie nodded. "Yeah."

"Then I'll meet you there." She said. "I just need a drink."

"A drink?" Hopscotch asked, looking sort of confused, but Hermione knew the look in his eyes too well. And so did Hannie. He was being an ass on purpose, just for the fun of it.

"A drink, you numb-scull, and a private one. So take Hermione's catch and get your but back to the port-key." She said, and at that moment Hermione felt slightly grateful for Hannie's sharp tongue and angry way of being herself.

Hopscotch sighed, gave Hannie a small bow, and with a smile he apparated, a death-eater over his shoulder. Hannie winked at Hermione and followed, and so did Anne with the other death-eater.

Hermione looked at Ron, who was standing there, holding the unconscious death-eater in one hand, his fingers clasped around the neck of his jacket.

"Thank you." She said again.

"No problem." He said.

And she knew that they were friends again. Maybe they would not return to how they were before they dated, but they would figure it out.

"Later." She said.

"Later." He replied.

So she turned and walked out the alley. When she reached the corner of the wall and the beginning of the parking-lot, she looked back and found that Ron had apparated away, taking the greasy-haired death-eater with him.

Hermione suddenly felt sad, and she realised, that even if the drink had been an excuse to get some time alone, she really needed a drink now.

So she walked around and into the bar, Devil's 8, and found her way to the bar-desk.

"Can I get you anything?" The bartender asked.

She considered for a moment, but then ended up asking for the same bottle of whiskey that Dean had made her taste, and a glass. The taste did not agree with her as much as she would like it too, but it felt like the right choice, when the bartender poured the first glass for her.

The first glass made her wrinkle her nose, remembering how she had fought to repress that reaction when she last tasted it. The liqueur burned its way down her throat. She also remembered only taking a small mouthful of it the last time, and leaving the glass almost full when she and Dean walked around to the alleyway.

The second glass actually tasted better than the first, as her taste-buds seemed to have begun to numb. Maybe she should stop. It was no more than 6 pm and it was still light outside and she was sitting in a bar, drinking. She sat the empty glass down, staring at it for a while, before pouring up a new one.

The third one made her begin to wonder. There were evil monsters, evil wizards and evil humans. But also good people. There were people who hunted down the evil ones, facing death on a daily basis because of those who hated them for it, and then there were those that were protected, some never knowing, others without gratitude, and then the grateful ones. Was it worth the pain and the threats to keep doing this, for the few that were actually grateful? Smiling, she realised it did not matter to her anyway. She saved people by hunting down the death-eaters. It helped herself to know that, and to know that they could not hurt anyone in Azkaban.

She poured glass number four, deciding that this would be the last glass and that she would return to hotel-room to sleep afterwards. She was about to lift it to her lips, when a hand placed itself on top of it.

"I think you might have had enough, for someone drinking alone." A slightly hoarse and rugged voice said, and she turned to see green eyes and a handsome crooked smile.

"Besides,-" Dean said. "That is my t-shirt and I wouldn't want you to get sick all over it."

Hermione smiled at him and he smiled back, sitting down beside her, taking a quick look at the bottle, before flashing her another crooked smile. "Thinking about me?" He asked, grinning.

She shook her head. "About my job." She said. "Which, by the way is done, so I'm going back to England soon." She leaned towards him, almost wanting him to stop her. To tell her to stay, even though they barely knew each other.

"Caught the bad guys?" He asked. "How many were they?" He leaned in too.

"Three." She answered, her smile a little sad. He would not ask her to stay. A witch and a hunter, was impossible. Sure, they could be together for some time, but problems would arise.

He whistled. "And you took them out together with those auror-guys?"

"Yes. Though I wasn't the one to get the bastard who tortured me." A shiver ran over her skin. "Before Ron knocked him unconscious he said he should have killed me." She emptied the glass in one draw.

Dean looked at her for some time. "You seem upset about it." He said. "Is it the first time someone's said they want to kill you?"

Hermione laughed. "No. No, that one's old, since my friends have a knack for getting into trouble." She looked at the empty glass. "I was just thinking about how many who have a grudge against me for catching them. I don't regret doing it, because they kill people and hurt them, but still... It's hard to know you're hated."

Dean kissed her. His lips pressed against hers, his hands on her cheeks, and his breath warm when he pulled away from her again. "I don't hate you."

Hermione looked into his eyes, already at a loss for breath from only a short kiss. "Thanks." She whispered.

"And I'm a hunter." He said. "So that must count for something."

"It does." She said, kissing him. He put his arms around her, pressing her to his chest and making her feel warm and safe.

"When are you leaving?" He asked.

"Eight pm tomorrow..." She said, pressing her forehead to his collarbone. She felt tired, and partly drunk and it all seemed strangely heavy to her, like she was being choked by the choices she had made in her life.

He caught her hand, studying her fingers, lifting them to his lips and kissing them. "How strange, to sit here with a witch." He said.

She smiled, letting out a small laugh. "I guess that means that Sam was right and you really did catch the witch." She said.

"Only after she cast her spell on me." He said.

"I thought you were the one with the magic stick." She retorted, laughter in her voice.

He responded by kissing her, hard and hungrily as he pulled her to her feet. "Let's get out of here." He said.

"My place?" She asked.

"Sounds fine to me." He answered.

She was about to move, but then she hesitated, a grin spreading on her face. "Take the bottle." She said.

"Why?" He asked.

"I want to keep it." She said and shrugged. "Besides, I paid for it already and they're not going to see me walk out with it."

"They're not?" Dean asked, frowning, but picking up the bottle anyway.

"No. They're not." Hermione said, setting her chin again. Stubborn. "Cause I don't have the patience to drive back to the hotel like a good little girl, so I'm doing this the witch-way."

Dean smiled. "I really shouldn't like that as much as I do." He said, stepping close to her and kissing her. Even with him bowing his head, she had to stand on her toes to receive it, and they continued till they were both breathless.

"I need you." She whispered, kissing him and sliding her hands down his chest and stomach. His free hand moved down her back, while the one with the bottle was pressed against her shoulders.

He growled when her left hand reached his bulking jeans.

"Do you trust me?" She asked, whispering in his ear.

Instead of answering her, he took a tigher hold of her, kissing her so she barely had the breath she needed to apparate.

The bartender looked at them, smiling and polishing a glass in his hands. When he looked up again, after having checked that the glass was spotless, they were gone. His eyes searched the room, but did not see them.

He smiled again, knowing that they must have gone off somewhere private. After all, they had seemed close, the two times he had served them whiskey. He looked over at the place where they had sat, and frowned when he saw the bottle was missing. Then he shrugged it off. It was paid for.

Outside the bar-sign was still blinking, looking strangely broken with it's huge neon-red letters.

**Devil's 8**

_A/N;_

_Thanks for reading this story, please review and tell me what you think, and do not worry about hurting my feelings. You need critique to grow.  
Anyways, a story I must admit I wasn't very serious about, centered around the number 8 and the bar Devil's 8.  
See ya'all later!_


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